Immortalis Aeternum
by Excelsium
Summary: Percy finds himself cast out and banished to the underworld due to a crime he obviously did not commit. On the way there, he meets a being, whose power outclasses even the Primordials themselves. Meanwhile, Olympus is under another threat: one that Zeus refuses to recognize. Classic Chaos fic with a huge twist. Review!
1. I

_"You think you know everything," it thunders, "for, after all, is it not comforting to believe yourselves the masters of your own pitiful universe? Your naivety astounds me."_

 _I try to reply, or at the very least make some kind of gesture for communication. I find my entire body unable to move. I struggle against my invisible bonds, stopping a short moment later as a streak of pain shoots through my body. Ascertaining myself as utterly immobile, I let my eyes wander, scouring my vicinity for anything that could help me. They land on my sceptre, placed mockingly just outside of my grasp._

 _"I know what it is you seek, child," he continues as his tone turns benign, "You seek love, acceptance, friendship, but ultimately knowledge, and therefore power. For this, however, you willingly bequeath your existence and servitude to the Mad Titan: a grave mistake. He certainly will not give return to your victories in his name, for he is just that- mad. I, however, will personally guarantee nigh-omnipotence, in exchange for but a few millennia of service."_

 _My body loosened from the bonds previously holding my limbs and tongue. I fall onto the hard rock under. I look up and behold a massive swirling mass of purplish mist, emanating raw power: power of which encompasses the basic process of creation and destruction. I sense his truthfulness and I manage a wry grin. Carefully, I ask, "What would this 'service' of yours entail?"_

" _For you to join an army," it rumbles, "and to lead it to glory. I will give you a briefing and introduction once we get there."_

 _Swirling smoke encapsules me and I reappear in an all-too-familiar landscape._

" _Midgard," I snarl_

My body jerks up. I look around, with a sharp intake of breath. Everything was fine. My minotaur horn was hanging on the wall as usual, Tyson's shield was buried somewhere in my dirty socks, and Riptide was in my pocket.

I peek through the window. It's still dark outside. Hey! This is the first time I woke up before 7! Ah fuck it. I doze off.

 _A blue glow illuminates my vision. I see a beautiful sapphire, engraved within an extravagant spear, morphing into a lavish pistol and a shining sword._

" _Excelsior," a voice booms._

I wake to Annabeth roughly shaking me. Extremely annoyed about having been woken from a very fulfilling sleep, albeit for that one dream, I groan.

"Urgwwhhatt?"

"It's 1 in the afternoon, Seaweed Brain," Annabeth chastises, "You were muttering about chaos and some weird Norse crap. I didn't even know you knew all that! Are you okay?"

"Huhhhhh..?"

"Nevermind," Annabeth snorts, "You're so daft."

"Nnnggggg"

I try to doze off again but Annabeth slaps me. Godsdamit. I sleepily struggle out of bed.

"And brush your teeth too," Annabeth says, "Your breath smells like Tartarus."

I chuckle, and slowly drag my feet to to the niche in my room, where the fountain lies. I quickly slurp some in my mouth and will it to clean out my mouth. Screw toothbrushes. I change into my camp T-Shirt and shorts, and I stumble sleepily out of the cabin-

-only to be greeted by a huge brown wall of fur and muscle.

What the heck? I recoil. The smell of animal BO hits my senses and I fall backwards.

"Are you OK?"

I look up, and see Chiron standing over me with a slightly bemused expression.

"Are you OK, Percy?"

I snap to my senses, and give a somewhat exasperated reply,

"Yes."

Then, I realized the entire camp was standing over me. Well then.

"Is everything alright?" I ask.

Josephine, a child of Hecate brought in last September, runs up to me. "We heard some strange noises in your cabin, and Felix ran to investigate. He was blown back by some kind of crystalline sapphire-coloured blast, and now he's in the Infirmary with third-degree burns, muttering incoherently. Every time someone tried to go near your cabin, they always got blasted back, however none of them had it as bad as Felix, who literally body-slammed into that forcefield."

I blinked.

"Wait, so why would my dad attack you all? I may be stupid, but that just doesn't make sense," I say. Chiron looks at me with sadness in his eyes.

"We weren't suspecting him," he croaks hoarsely.

That's when I notice that everybody has their weapons drawn and pointed at me. "There must be a misunderstanding," I stutter, "I didn't attack the camp." "Then explain why you put 3 people in critical condition and given 7 more serious burns," Chiron challenges. I was about to reply when suddenly, a bright flash illuminates my vision.

"Perseus Jackson," a strong voice declares, "You have been convicted of high treason against Olympus."

I look up, and my gaze is met with stormy grey eyes, emanating with power.

"Lady Athena," I say, "what in the gods' name is going on?" There was no chance in Hades that they were serious. I was asleep - and even gods can't use their powers when asleep!

"You've consciously abused your powers and seriously injured over 10 people," Athena declares, "Originally we believed that you were a devout supporter of Olympus, but it seems that power corrupts even the most steadfast people." I stare at Athena in bewilderment. Athena returns the stare indifferently. This was beyond idiotic; this was preposterous. I open my mouth, but no words come out. For a moment, I look like I am choking. What the heck just happened?

"I was asleep," I manage to force out. "There's no possible way I could have hurt so many of my friends. I'm nowhere near strong enough to unconsciously send out power bursts when I'm asleep." Athena fixes a stare on me. "Really," she says, "but what if you aren't asleep?"

"Are you suggesting that I was awake and I purposefully attacked my own friends?" I ask, "My fatal flaw is loyalty: there's absolutely no way this could be true. I've done so much for them; why would I hurt them now?"

After a long and contemplative pause, Athena replies. "There's always the chance," she asserts, "Power has been known to corrupt and turn many of even the most intrepid of heroes. Take Hercules, for instance." Dionysus butts in, "Yeah! Also like Luke's father!" Hermes jolts in his throne. "Luke what?" he yells. His caduceus jerks upright and starts to turn laser-red, as if it has a will of its own. Then again, it does.

Dionysus stares at the caduceus, and begins to turn an interesting shade of purple. He stutters, "N-no, of course not. I-I was merely t-talking about th-that guy in that TV show, I think Star Trek? H-his n-name was A-Anakin I-I think." Hermes sits back, not quite satisfied, but not on the verge of making Dionysus hurt badly either. Zeus clears his throat and shoots both of the gods a death stare. They blanch. "Right," he says, "continuing from where Athena left off, you have obviously been unfortunately led astray by the lure of power."

I gape dumbfounded. "This doesn't make any sense at all," I protest. The story did make no sense. How did Annabeth get inside my cabin if there even was a supposed "barrier" around it?

"The entire council was keeping the barrier at bay," Athena says, as if she read my mind. Thenagain, she probably did. "It left all of us drained," she admits grudgingly, "whatever you put up there, that's good stuff." I look around. Tired was an understatement. Athena looked like she just recovered from a severe hangover. Her normally straight hair was frizzled, and there are bags under her eyes. I look at the rest of the council: they were no better. Apollo's radiance, while normally bright golden, is currently flickering on and off in dim yellow. Artemis is fast asleep. Dionysus is shivering after his encounter with Hermes, who in itself looks tired beyond measure. Aphrodite's makeup is all over the place, and she's nodding off too. Zeus and Hades look like they went through another one of their fights, World War II level. But my dad, Poseidon, is the worst out of everyone. He looks like he just travelled to Tartarus and fought every monster imaginable, along with a few Titans too.

I scratch the back of my head. "What the heck?" I say, "I didn't do it." Athena turns her steely eyes towards me once more.

"I'm sorry," she says mournfully, "simple logic dictates that you did. You are but more proof that even the strongest can fall to the allure of power."

I try to open my mouth to protest, but Zeus interrupts me. "Ahem," he says, "now that the 'defendant' is proven guilty, we shall move onto the sentencing." Zeus turns his eyes onto Poseidon sitting next to him. He softens his gaze. "I'm sorry, brother," he tries to comfort Poseidon.

Zeus turns his face towards me, "I sentence you, to eternity in the Fields of Punishment. Be glad, traitor, that it's not Tartarus," he thunders. I try once more to protest. This is against all logic: this is persecution! Zeus waves his hand and summons his bolt. "I didn't do it," I weakly say. Then I say no more.

You know that feeling you get when you are on a rollercoaster, and it suddenly goes down? The "I want to puke" sensation? I feel that, times one hundred. I'm suddenly going so fast, my skin feels like it was peeling off. So this is what flashing feels like, huh?

I close my eyes. This is the most bullshit thing I've ever been through. I can only hope that this is a test or a prank by Apollo or Hermes. It's so obvious that I'm not the one who injured my own friends. Maybe I'll reappear in the middle of the council again, with everyone guffawing at the look of my face.

I hope so. I hope the Olympian Council isn't stupider than me.

After what feels like an eternity, the rollercoaster sensation subsides. It took way too long to simply flash me from Olympus to the Underworld.

I am thrown out onto a hard mahogany floor. This isn't the Underworld.

A booming laughter fills the room. I look up, and am greeted by the most majestic sight eyes can behold. The creator of this place somehow took a Victorian-era mansion and magicked it out into … interstellar space? The wooden walls gleams with god-level polishing. Exquisite chandeliers hang from the ceiling, wreathed in ethereal light. Fine redwood stairs in the corner of the room lead up to a beautiful second-floor balcony, overlooking the main lobby. Huge floor-to-ceiling windows adorn the walls, each looking out into countless stars and nebulae. The air within the mansion smells like cold, refreshing lemon. This is definitely not the underworld.

I turn around and focus on a dark humanoid figure, standing with its back turned. When I face it, it pivots on its heel and steps into the light.

"Hello there," the figure greets. He war tall and slender, with obsidian-black eyes and a shiny, almost iridescent bald head.

"I am Order."


	2. II

"I am Order."

I tilt my head. "Order?"

"Yes. Order. The guardian of the universe. The master of balance and justice. Lord of the most underappreciated big brothers ever," he introduces himself.

"So basically like Nemesis and Apollo combined, right?" I ask.

"Yes," Order smiles, "Heck, I'm the person who created the whole lot of them."

I scratch my head. "But isn't Chaos the creator of everything?" I ask. Order shakes his head. "Chaos created the inanimate objects. She created spacetime, the elements, planets, and everything lifeless. I am the one who manipulates her creations into things far more beautiful. I was the one who wrote the laws of relativity. I put Chaos's universe under a set of rules, in order to give it a somewhat semblance of coherence. Best of all, I am the one who breathes life into Chaos' universe."

I say the most intelligent phrase that comes to mind. "Oh."

"Right," Order continues, "Do you know why we saved you from Hades' realm?"

My facial expression made it abundantly clear that it didn't. Just to clarify, however, I answer in the negative. Order explains. "We saved you from there since we didn't want such a noble hero go to waste. We saw your deeds on Terrum and decided to put you to even greater use, but this time in the right direction."

I clasp my forehead. Primordials and creators almighty, how many right directions are there? First it was getting a good education and going into a decent college, as my mother always told him to do. Then, when I heard about the mythical world, it was about doing anything to please the gods, mostly consisting of mundane "quests" that had little to no point. After that, it was saving the gods themselves against their archenemies: the Titans and the Giants.

Now, the right direction is … I have no clue.

"Trust me, this is the actual right direction," Order says, sensing my exasperation. I remain skeptical until I consider the fact that he's the creator of the universe. Unless he turns out to be something like Galactus, I'd say that his direction is the right direction.

"Can you elaborate further?" I ask. Order rubs his hand over his head. "I'm not able to explain in full detail," he says mournfully, "but I can tell you that we're essentially an army dealing with way bigger threats against life and civilization. Before I give you the utmost detail, however, I must ask you this-"

I nod. It had better not be an algebra problem.

"- are you in or are you out?" Order finishes.

It was a straight to-the-point question, but it is surprisingly hard to answer. The logical side of me dictates that there is only one rational answer. If I decline his offer, it means that I have to spend the rest of eternity in the Fields of Punishment, and that doesn't sound pretty enticing to me. The more emotional side of me argues that I shouldn't simply abandon everything I've ever stood for just because of this bald dude.

I am visibly torn for a few seconds, but then I realize that the same beings that I've served just threw me into the Fields of Punishment without so much as a second thought.

I open my mouth. "I'm-," my voice broke. I take a few deep breaths.

Finally, I say it.

"I'm in."

Order smiles. "Excellent," he says, "Now if you would follow me please. I will take you to your commander, where he'll brief you for what is about to come."

Order waves his hand, and chunks of a primordial-sized ring slowly materialize and piece themselves together. When it finishes moving, bolts of multicoloured plasma fill the hole in the ring. It weirdly reminded me of a Stargate, from the Stargate series.

Order beckons me forward. "We'll be warping to Concordia Prime, where the main training camp is situated. No need to brace yourself: this is engineered to provide a pleasant and fulfilling experience while warping. Now just step in, and go to the man inside the tent in front of you. Good luck, hero."

With one last glance at Order, I step into the portal.

It had barely been a second until I materialize into a gray landscape, very similar to the Fields of Asphodel. As per Order's instructions, I step into the large, ornate, and black tent in front of me.

As soon as I step in, a clear voice with a crisp British accent cuts through the air.

"Ah, Perseus Jackson. I've been expecting you."


	3. III

"Ah, Perseus Jackson. I've been expecting you."

I pivot on the balls of my feet. Standing behind is a tall and slender man, with piercing blue eyes and smooth, shoulder-length black hair. He is dressed in a black Napoleonic Field-Marshal's uniform, decked with a set of golden epaulettes and finished off with an ornate bicorne. A sheathed basket-hilted sabre hangs from his hip, alongside a beautiful flintlock.

My gaze lingers on the weapons. I've seen them before, but I simply can't place where. I frown. I'll think about it later.

Suddenly, the deja-vu hits me.

"I know you!" I yell. For a second, I see apprehension flash in the man's eyes. Then, as fast as it had appeared, it was gone. Thinking nothing of it, I continue, "Arent you that dude from the movie Avengers? That evil gu-" "-Yes, yes," he interrupts, "I've casted in quite a few mortal movies. They know me as Tom Hiddleston. Good source of income if you ask me: won't have to depend on Order nearly as much."

"So you're Tom Hiddleston," I say, confused. How did Tom Hiddleston get… here?

"No," he clarifies, "I'm Tom Hiddleston only to the mortal world. To everybody else here, I'm referred to as 'Sir'. You will call me 'Sir' until you graduate out of the academy, then you will address me by rank. I am a Field Marshal. You will do that to every officer both above and below you until you get out of the academy."

"What academy?" I ask, confused yet again.

Hiddleston chuckles. "And that's what the briefing is for," he waves me over to an intricate hardwood desk, "have a seat, let me explain."

I sit.

Tom runs his hand through his hair. "You're not the only one out of place," he begins, "Let me give you some background knowledge on both myself and how things work in general. Before I was whisked here, I belonged to a separate universe."

Thoughts were racing through my mind at never-seen-before paces. Did this Hiddleston guy just confirm the existence of a multiverse, like the Avengers?

I open my mouth, but Tom sees and waves me off. "Let me explain first," he says, "As far as my knowledge is concerned, there is a veritable lot of universes all arranged throughout spacetime. Chaos and Order created this universe, while other beings constructed their universes. In my universe, the Norse Gods rule supreme. As for this universe, Chaos and Order originally planned to have the Greek gods rule, but their feisty squabbles and overall incompetence led to that plan being scrapped. It also lead to us."

Hiddleston spreads his arms.

"We are the Lux Ordinis. Instead of gods, we are the policemen of this universe. We make sure everything is running well, with no dictatorships or unnecessary wars-"

His face clouds up. "-... and we're currently not having much success in that field."

Hiddleston beckons with his left hand, towards an unoccupied tent wall. It lights up, illuminating a detailed map, showing 7 planets. He jabs his finger at the leftmost one, a rocky white snowball world. "Frostaria," he says, "currently an ultra-ultra-liberal stronghold. They've established over 150 genders into officiality. Because of this, a new form of widespread racism emerged, this time between genders. Those who identify as amongst the original and traditional genders are being persecuted, Holocaust style."

I shake my head. "This is absurd," I say, "people are fighting now not even because of differences in race or religion, but for differences in gender. That doesn't even make sense. How do they even fight? Does each gender have it's own little country like Earth?"

"Excellent guess," Tom remarks, "You are not far from the truth. In fact, Frostaria was indeed formerly split into separate territories marked by different genders. Mind you, they recognize over 150 genders: with over 150 different countries, it was quite a lively world. That is until all the genders decided to bond and unite into a single gender: Pangenda. That's when it all fell to pieces, and the minority begin getting slaughtered, Therefore, we invade to 'clean the slate' and guide that world to a more benevolent regime."

I nod in understanding. Makes sense. Too much of any good thing can result in it turning sour.

He again motions with his hand, zooming in onto what seems to be a battlefield. Grey jagged rocks protrude from the shining snow. Formations of soldiers armed with muskets shoot at each other, with neither side making any clear advances.

"This is the Assault on Celeste, aimed at capturing a major chokepoint area," Tom voice grows sombre, "It's capture is vital to the ultimate defeat of the regime, however the Frostarians are completely dug in. Right now, it's a stalemate that would result ultimately in our defeat, unless some miracle happens. All the same, we cannot retreat, lest the Frostarians decide to give chase with cavalry."

Hiddleston claps his hands. "Enough of this. This does not concern you yet," he declares, "For now, I want you to report to Sergeant-Major Woolridge, by sector E-8. He will escort you to your barracks and give you a taste of what's about to come."

I look at him, confused. "Where is sector E-8?" I ask.

"Ah yes," Tom says, "Here's a map for you." He tosses a folded piece of paper to me. "E-8 is just to the west of here, right past the parade square. Off you go now."

I nod, and head off.


	4. IV

The moment I step out of the tent, I am amazed yet again. The sky is black and filled with stars. Purple nebulae swirl across the heavens, weaving intricate patterns above. A huge planet looms to the side, filling nearly a quarter of the sky. A faint outline of a galaxy can be seen in the background. There is no atmosphere, but somehow I can breathe. For the first time in more than ten years, I feel peace.

I am jerked out of my reverie by a hoarse, earsplitting yell.

I turn around, and behold a huge man looming behind me. "CADET! WHY ARE YOU WANDERING OUT UNATTENDED?" he screams. Before I can reply, he gets close enough so that I can see the detail in his face.

"I ASKED YOU A QUESTION, CADET," he yells. I blink. I would rather not fight him; he's more than a head taller than me and just as muscular. My throat suddenly feels dry.

"I, uh," I splutter, "The Field Marshal told me to go to Sergeant Major Woolridge?" My hand itched towards Riptide, but deep down, I know it is of no use here.

The man's eyes soften, "Ah, an officer cadet? Follow me," he says gruffly. He turns around and begins walking towards a row of tents. Each tent was pitch black in colour and lined with fancy golden trim, some fancier than the others. A dim bluish glow emanates from each tent, giving off a neo-futuristic vibe. However, judging from the occupants of the tent-row, the army was anything but neo-futuristic. The row was alight with movement, with some men sitting around playing cards, some sharpening their bayonets, and others cleaning their muskets. As we pass by, we were largely ignored.

I look at the man leading me. His stature is one of someone who has seen lots of combat and breathes on military regulations. My ADHD driven curiosity eventually gets the better of me as we continue to walk through the camp. "So, ah, I kind of forgot to ask, but who are you?" I ask. Then I remember how I am now part of some kind of military, and hastily tack on, "Sir."

He grunts before he answers, "My name is Corporal Shane Havegroven. You will address me as Corporal. You will address anybody under the rank of Ensign by their respective ranks. This includes the Sergeant Major."

Havegroven stops by a relatively fancier tent, pitched at the far end of the row. "We're here now, cadet," he says, doing a swift about face. He begins to walk away as he finishes, "Go on in. The Sergeant Major has already been notified of your incoming presence."

I gulp nervously, and go in the tent. Apart from a heavy wooden desk, a black and gold flag in the corner, and a musket-rack by the entrance, the tent is nearly bare. Sitting behind the desk is an extremely well-built man, with golden-tanned skin, very short black hair, and sky-blue eyes. He sprouts four chevrons on his shoulder, probably signifying that he was Sergeant Major Woolridge himself.

Upon seeing him, I do what everybody does in the movies: I instantly stop, and stand a little straighter to my full height. The man walks up to me, examining me from head to toe.

"At ease, cadet," Woolridge says in response to my presence, "You took a damn long time to get here. Why's that, cadet? The Field-Marshal's tent is only a 2 minute walk from here. You took 10."

"I may have walked in the wrong direction, sir," I explain. I realize my mistake too late.

He explodes.

Woolridge's eyes bulges out and a vein becomes visible on his forehead.

"YOU BLEEDING SHITBAG, YOU DO NOT REFER TO ME AS SIR! I'LL BET MY STRIPES THAT THE FIELD MARSHAL AND WHOEVER BROUGHT YOU HERE MADE THAT ABUNDANTLY CLEAR! DO YOU NOT KNOW HOW TO FOLLOW DIRECTIONS?" Wooldridge screams at me, stepping up into my face.

I decide that if I respond, I'll get more of a tongue lashing. Biting my lip hard enough to draw blood, I stay quiet, silently cursing my forgetfulness.

Wooldridge steps within my (now nonexistent) personal space and glares down at me, but I hold my ground.

"Now listen here you worthless waste of space, you get it into your thick head that until you graduate from the academy, I am your superior. That means whatever I say will be law to you. If I say you're a lost little baby cadet, that's what you are. Do you understand me, cadet?!" Wooldridge yells, with spit flying at me at killer velocity. I didn't move a muscle, partially in fear that he'd cover me with more spit.

Woolridge walks to his desk and sits behind it, beckoning me closer. He lowers his voice to a more normal tone, seemingly calmed down.

"In case you haven't noticed already, this army rotates off rule, order, and discipline. Without those three, we are no better than the hordes of monsters in Terra, or Earth, nor are we better than any of our adversaries," he says, rubbing his forehead.

The sergeant major waves his hand towards the musket rack by the entrance. He notices my raised eyebrow and quizzical expression. "It was quite the transition for me too. I used to serve in the United States Army, eventually climbing up to Sergeant-Major of the Army," he chuckles, "First the M1 was the go-to weapon, back in the kraut war. After that, it was the Springfield. Then, in 'Nam, the higher-ups decided to replace everything with the M-14 and M-16. Then, I get placed here and discover that the musket is the intergalactic weapon of choice. Quite the headache for me."

Woolridge takes out a brilliant-golden iPad. He scrolls through the screen, while saying, "I'm in charge of initial cadet-reception. Judging that you have come from the Field Marshal's tent and not Lieutenant Vol Raag's, you are presumably an officer cadet. I am placing you with the other new arrivals, in company OT1131. Remember that code as if it is your lifeline."

Woolridge stands and escorts me to the entryway. He points at a glowing building about 500 yards east.

"That's the armoury," he says, "Report to Quartermaster Vraxias. Tell him your company code, and he'll give you your equipment. Good luck, cadet."

"Yes, sergeant major," I echo. I walk off.

As I walk to the armoury, I pass by two bickering officers, dressed in extremely ornate uniforms. I manage to hear some snippets of their conversation.

"Bah, Arthur, you fool. Artillery is the main component of La Armee," one says with a heavy French Accent.

The other chuckles, "Then explain why I defeated your oh-so-mighty Artillery, supported by your 'elite' Old Guard, Bonaparte?"


End file.
